


Camping Ritual

by DesireeArmfeldt



Category: due South
Genre: Camping, Community: dsc6dsnippets, Established Relationship, Knifeplay, Love, M/M, POV First Person, Prompt Fic, Shaving, Snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 17:19:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesireeArmfeldt/pseuds/DesireeArmfeldt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Lie still, Ray,” he says.  Like I’m gonna move, with that wicked blade at my throat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Camping Ritual

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [ds-snippets](http://ds-snippets.livejournal.com) prompt:
> 
> *blood  
> *camping  
> *precision  
> *ritual  
> *"You don't miss twice when you're shaving with a knife."

“Lie still, Ray,” he says.  Like I’m gonna move, with that wicked blade at my throat.  Like I have any say over the fact that I’m shivering all over.  


I shut my eyes and concentrate on breathing slow and steady.  Smell of pine needles, damp soil, wind (I don’t care, you can too smell the wind, out here away from the city, where it’s some kind of living thing and not just the air moving from point A to point B).  Smell of wool, leather, my own sweat, Fraser’s breath as he leans down over me.

Fraser’s hand grasps my chin; his skin’s on fire by contrast to mine, which is damp and chilled by the breeze.  The steel touches me, icy sharp, and I can’t keep from twitching.  Flash of pain—heat, really, I don’t feel more than that.

“Ray!”  Fraser’s voice is sharp, calling me to heel.

“It’s okay,” I tell him, opening my eyes to look up into his (blue-grey and shifting like the sky, more grey than blue right this second).  “It’s okay.”

Straddling me, razor in his right hand, solid as a mountain, Fraser swipes his thumb along my jaw.  Shows me the smear of red, then lifts it to his mouth and sucks the blood away.  I shudder under him.

He waits until I’m still again, then sets the razor against my cheek and scrapes a firm, precise stroke down to my jaw.  I sigh, relaxing under his touch, letting him bare my soft skin to the wind, to his gaze.   Every sweep of the blade a promise.

  



End file.
